


Perfect for me

by OnlyMyThoughtsForCompany



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: 4x07, Angst, Episode 4x07, Episode Tag, F/M, First Kiss, Getting Together, I don't know how to tag this, Infidelity, M/M, POV Second Person, We're Done, again kinda, but no overly, but not really, episode coda, kinda angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 16:04:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9332666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlyMyThoughtsForCompany/pseuds/OnlyMyThoughtsForCompany
Summary: “You think I haven’t thought about this before,” Mike challenges, eyes glittering in the city lights filtering through the windows, like rare and precious jewels.You swallow thickly and think about how Mike looks at you sometimes.  The way his eyes follow you around the office.  The look in his eyes after you leave court; like he wants nothing more than to find the nearest flat surface, bend you over it and fuck you senseless.You have no doubt that Mike's thought about this before.A missing scene in 4x07 "We're Done" after Mike turns up at Harvey's apartment





	

“God, I trusted her, you know? She said it was over and I believed her. But she just lied, and lied, and lied, and lied…”

His words were slurred, gaze listless and unfocused posture the worst you’ve ever seen it, sprawled on your lounge as he is. You keep a careful eye on the glass in his hand as he gestures wildly, all too aware of the cost of the leather Mike’s sitting and too tired to deal with spilt whiskey.

You draw in a deep breath and try to listen as Mike’s laments over his relationship with Rachel, the cost of the whiskey currently being poured down his throat not once enters your mind.

Well actually, it enters your mind briefly and it makes you hate yourself just a little bit more.

It’s worth it, you’ve already decided, however, having come to the conclusion watching Mike down his umpteenth glass. You’d give more than a few bottles of your best alcohol if it meant Mike was happy. You’re pulled from your musings by the end of a question you hadn’t heard the start to.

“...you know?”

You hum a vague noise of agreement knowing that Mike isn’t really looking for your opinion even if you’d be willing to give it. Sure enough Mike goes off again and there’s no room for irritation at his incessant talking; you’re too overcome by blinding hatred and anger. 

You’d wanted to find her when Mike had told you what she’d done. You’d wanted to find her and force her to explain why out of everyone in the world it had to be Mke she was unfaithful to and why out of everyone she could have chosen to do it with it had to be Logan; the one who would have hurt Mike the most. A few calming drinks was enough to convince you that that wasn’t the best course of action and while the anger didn’t abate, it did dim enough for you to focus on what was really important: Mike.

The whole thing reminds you inextricably of the night you told your father of your mother’s dalliances. He’d also gotten blind drunk, you recall. He too had raged at her infidelity. Mourned the loss of the relationship, which had been quickly been followed by the crying. Mike had been par for course so far but selfishly you hoped Mike wouldn’t similarly succumb to his emotions. You never were good with tears.

“...I’m just done with her.”

Those words get your attention, surprising you. Even your father hadn’t gotten that far the first night. You’d resolutely kept your opinions to yourself so far but here against your judgement you want to remind him to take some time to think this over.

“In fact I’m going to call her right now.”

You’re up and across the room, plucking the phone from his hand before Mike can even blink let alone say another word.

“What you’re going to do,” you say calmly, levering Mike off the lounge. “Is have a good night’s rest before you make any decisions.”

You slip the confiscated phone into your back pocket and turned your head to find Mike honest-to-God pouting at you. It's an effort not to laugh at the frankly adorable expression and instead slip a firm arm around the wobbling ma’s waist. He doesn’t move however when you try to lead him to your guest room and you turn to him, confusion marring your features.

“You’re too good to me,” Mike slurs, breath almost toxic from the alcohol and you might have felt flattered if you didn’t feel the uncoordinated hand creeping for your back pocket.

You let out a low laugh and grab his wrist firmly before it can get anywhere near the phone.

“Come on,” you murmur and this time Mike goes without a fight.

The pair of you stumble through the mostly dark apartment, tripping over stray furniture, rug edges and on one occasion absolutely nothing at all. Mike is grumbling under his breath and you’re laughing almost silently as you save him yet again from a meeting with the floor when you finally make it to the spare bedroom. 

You keep Mike upright with a hand on his shoulder and a murmured “stay” and proceed to drag his jeans down slim hips one handed knowing he’ll sleep uncomfortably full-clothed if you let him. You leave him to kick the pants off and straighten to pull his jacket from his shoulders, eyes not on his face.

When he speaks his voice is quest and he says only a single word. “Harvey.”

You meet his eyes in question and realise for the first time how close your faces are. Much closer than you think you should allow. Then his lips touch yours and you stop thinking about much of anything.

The kiss is kind of exactly how you always imagined it.

 _Not,_ that you ever imagined what kissing Mike would feel like.

But it’s kind of perfect because underneath the alcohol on his breath he just… tastes like Mike. Like pure, innocent Mike. Like the first day of summer and untouched snow and everything else good in this world. His lips are soft on yours, curving around your bottom lip to suck gently, almost lazily. And you can’t help yourself and sigh a little, allowing Mike to slip his tongue in.

But just as things are starting to get interesting, Mike squirming his way closer, your hands on his hips, his arms locking around your neck, reality - and particularly the events of the last few hours - come crashing back and you grow a damn conscience. You don’t push him away because this isn’t a rejection but you do pull away yourself a little. Not enough to separate fully, you still remain touching at the forehead but you do put a few inches of space between your mouths.

“You don’t want to do this,” you say quietly.

Mike’s eyes are a deep cobalt in the dark room but when they meet yours they’re alight with something you can't quite name.

“I think maybe I do,” he counters, pressing a kiss almost subconsciously to your jaw. You shudder slightly at the sensation, allowing yourself to be distracted for a second and wonder how those lips will feel on other parts of your body before you refocus.

“No,” you say gently. “You’re hurting and you just want her to feel that paint to.”

You know from experience not to use Rachel’s name but Mike doesn’t even blink at the reference.

“You think I haven’t thought about this before,” Mike challenges, eyes glittering in the city lights filtering through the windows, like rare and precious jewels. 

You swallow thickly and think about how Mike looks at you sometimes. The way his eyes follow you around the office. The look in his eyes after you leave court; like he wants nothing more than to find the nearest flat surface, bend you over it and fuck you senseless. You try to swallow again only to find your throat uncomfortably dry and Mike’s grin turns triumphant, as though he knows exactly what you’re thinking about.

“Oh I have no doubt you have,” you say and you’re surprised at how steady your voice is. “But it’s not somewhere we’re going tonight. You’re going to sleep on it and we’ll talk in the morning.”

You can see that the copiou amount of alcohol he’s consumed has finally taken it's toll on Mike because when he nods it’s slowly and done without a fight. His gaze is distracted again, drifting around the room rather than focussing on you. It’s fairly easily to get him to bed after that. He does willingly enough and wriggles under the sheets with no more than a content huff but when you move to leave Mike catches a hold of your hand with surprising strength. You let him tug your hand closer and don’t dare make a noise when he kisses your palm gently, eyes already closing as he does so.

“You are too good for me.” The words are barely more than a breath. Mike nuzzles the skin of your palm for a moment before finally letting go, brath already evening out as sleep takes it's hold.

You wait a moment, maybe two, just to ensure he’s completely out before leaning in and dropping a kiss to his forehead. “No, Mike. It’s you who is too good for me; me and the rest of the goddamn world.”

You straighten again and allow yourself a minute to take in the serene expression that’s taken up residence on his features before retiring to your own room. You slip into bed immediately, almost not bothering to get changed. You have a feeling thing are going to get so much more complicated tomorrow and if that’s true, you’ll need all the sleep you can get.


End file.
